Rabbi Amichai Lau-Lavie’s eye witness reflections on what happened in Union Square on the third annual Israelis for Peace Vigil for 10/7.

Once again, the screams of hate thundered over the nuanced pleas for peace. The scene in Union Sq this week felt furious and historical, painful and fraught. And yet I still believe: There is more that unites us than divides us. Peace will prevail. It begins in the messy, radical middle where redemption lives.

This is my eyewitness account and reflections on what happened in Union Square on the third annual 10/7 vigil held by Israelis for Peace. I was right in the middle of it as an Israeli-American rabbi, proud to help plan, lead, and close this gathering—responding to furious counter-protests with a megaphone to recite the Mourner’s Kaddish and offer a prayer for peace for our people and all people.

I want to share a few facts, hurts, hopes, and the words of our revised prayer.

Standing hand in hand with hundreds of grieving Israelis and Palestinians, invited faith leaders, and civic leaders including Mayor Mamdani, we were enclosed by barricades against a hostile group of counter-protesters, many masked, and kept safe by the NYPD.

The story got big and ugly because of the mayor’s attendance. But the mayor is not the main issue here—let’s not be distracted. Our peaceful vigil was targeted by aggressive hostility from protesters who showed no respect for anything beyond their own righteous rage.

Yet the core issue of our divisive times is that far too many hearts are too wounded and angry to hold the multiple truths required to move beyond zero-sum binaries. The refusal or tragic inability of so many, fueled by deep trauma, to contain critical complexities is heartbreaking. Even the best intentions for justice, protection, loyalty, and love—from the left and the right, Pro and Anti alike—get trapped in a blame game that names what’s missing and who’s wrong, yet fails to support the fragile fusions required for honest healing and relentless faith in peace.

Israelis for Peace

One of the very few communities where I’ve found a balanced reality that holds all hurts and hopes for our intertwined futures is Israelis for Peace. Created three years ago by a group of fierce Israeli women living in NYC, this grassroots movement rose from the ashes of October 7th, committed to coexistence, an end to occupation, and the co-creation of new pathways that honor all human life in the Holy Land.

I joined their first improvised vigil in Brooklyn with handheld signs and candles weeks after the massacre, where we were similarly surrounded by protesters waving Hamas flags. By the winter of 2024, the vigil moved to Union Square—dispensing with flags, focusing on repair, and elevating harrowing testimonies from both Israel and Gaza. Every Sunday, rain or shine—part protest, part vigil—this circle meets in active solidarity with the suffering of all sides, frequently joined by frontline peacemakers who refuse to choose side and imagine better futures.

Even as tribal trauma runs deep and critics on both the far-right and far-left accuse us of betrayal, this group keeps coming together, holding fast to the hope that our message will reach everyone who prioritizes human life and dignity above all else.

While we have faced interruptions before, nothing matched the aggression aimed at this year’s vigil. We are relieved that there were no casualties or physical harm, thanks in large part to the NYPD creating a physical barrier. We stood there holding candles and signs reading “Not One More Soul,” honoring the victims of violence while committing to visions of equality, justice, and peace.

I am in awe of the extraordinary choices the organizers made in the middle of this chaos. Faced with impossible real-time decisions—whether to cancel, or whether to call on the police to initiate mass arrests—they made the bold and wise choice to relocate behind barricades. They chose to continue without seeking to silence or arrest the people trying to silence us, modeling what moral leadership looks like. As Israelis for Peace posted afterward: “For three years we have been protesting out of a dogged refusal to compromise on the humanity of anyone. Last night will not change that. With our hearts open we invite everyone to join us.”

This isn’t simple moderation in the face of extremism; there was something profoundly radical about Israelis and Palestinians, Jews and Muslims, elected officials and activists choosing to stand together in grief and in a shared demand for a different future even as all around us hate was loud and in our face.

The Mayor’s Presence

Why did the surrounding protest explode? Because Mayor Mamdani joined us.

Last year, before his election, Mamdani sat in the front row, lit a candle, and listened quietly to heartbreaking testimonies from survivors, hostages, mourners, and bereaved families from both Israel and Gaza. While no officials were formally invited then or now, we welcomed him alongside other leaders, even as his rhetoric angered many in the Jewish community.

This year, his surprising announcement that he would attend created a lightning-rod storm. Radicalized pro-Palestine protesters flooded the square to attack him for “treason,” sparing no insult for those of us gathering to grieve. Yet there we all were—alongside elected officials including Brad Lander, who has stood with us on numerous occasions to speak up for justice, and along with Jumaane Williams. Our words were nearly drowned out by shouts deaf to the brave space we were holding, but every word was heard. We didn’t back down.

Earlier that day, the mayor had released a public statement regarding October 7th. I think it was flawed. While he grieved the loss of Israeli life, he focused heavily on Israeli war crimes and American taxpayer complicity. For Israelis like me—even as a left-leaning peace activist sharply critical of Israel’s government—and for so many still raw from the worst attack on Jewish lives since the Holocaust, his statement felt tone-deaf to raw Jewish trauma. I wish his statement had addressed both Jewish pain and the ongoing onslaught on Palestinians in a better-balanced way that builds bridges rather than walls.

Having come to know the mayor, I appreciate many of his positions and his willingness to hold complex views. While I firmly believe he is not antisemitic, his rhetoric may lead to the dangerous blurring of lines between legitimate criticism of Israel’s policies and hatred of Jews whether associated with Israel or not.

And yet, while words matter, showing up matters too. Mayor Mamdani made an extraordinary choice of political and moral courage to stand in a space that honors humanity and complexity, knowing he would be attacked from all sides. His decision to stand with us was not just a political obligation. It was a principled choice.

He stood with us, unsmiling, for 90 minutes as harrowing testimonies of those who perished on October 7th alongside the stories of survivors in Gaza were read aloud over the roar of the crowd. Masked extremists cursed him as a sellout from one side, while pro-Israel protesters shouted at him from the other.

When ‘Globalize the Intifada’ was heard across the square I wondered what was going through his mind. Whether he did or didn’t use or ever endorse this particular slogan or others like it – what was it like to be on the other side of the protest and being accused of being complicit with those who seek solutions and pursue peace? At some point during the vigil our eyes met in recognition. I saw his pain. He witnessed my tears.

In an article published by the Jewish Telegraphic Agency (JTA) covering the night, I shared my perspective:

Rabbi Amichai Lau-Lavie, who leads New York’s Lab/Shul and led the Mourner’s Kaddish, told JTA that “In the heat of these protest battles, there’s no room for nuance. It’s the slurs and the slogans. And what we saw here tonight was hatred that is coming from a good place of justice and freedom, but is not attuned to what we’re doing here.” He described that goal as one that acknowledges that both peoples’ futures are intertwined. Lau-Lavie also praised the mayor for coming. “I can say I’m glad about the fact that the mayor was here and witnessed this animosity, and stood with us,” he noted. “For all his flaws, and there are many, I hope he got something.”

But the main message of this vigil was not his presence—it was our collective call for grief and growth, choosing courageous repair over callous revenge. No counter protesters can silence this sacred intention.

Our Path Forward

My primary task at this vigil was organizing our interfaith alliance. A few dozen faith leaders—Muslim, Christian, and Jewish—stood arm in arm. Rev. Jackie literally held my trembling hand as the screaming intensified. Imam Ahmad tried to reason with the protesters and was shoved aside. And yet, we delivered our prayers above the din to close the vigil.

I invited us to raise our candles high and hold a silent pause—louder than megaphones of hate—even as the crowd around us jeered. We were called to pray for and imagine a lasting peace, transcending tribal trauma and deep suspicion to build a shared future forged through fears and tears.

Amended Peace Prayer

To conclude, I led us in the Mourner’s Kaddish for our people and for all human beings, ending with an impassioned plea for peace. I offered two changes to the hallowed prayer—one, already known to many, prayed for the peace of the people of Israel alongside all those who dwell on earth. The other shift is one I offered my community this past Yom Kippur—calling on the Source of Life to help us all become active partners in peace, not wait for miracles: Oseh Shalom B’mromav – Bo’u Naashe Shalom: Let’s all dream and build this peace together.

It was a powerful and moving ending: we lifted our candles and raised our voices with each word to hold each loss of life and focus on the future we all yearn for. Someone wrote later – it was the loudest Kaddish he ever heard. When is the mourner’s prayer ever screamed with anguish?

When the vigil ended, we shook hands, hugged, and wept. As the crowd dispersed, a few of us faith leaders formed a tight circle in the middle of the square to hold each other and pray for the patience, resilience, and perseverance required to keep building trust and peace bit by bit.

I cherish those moments of grace. But I am also left with deep pain from the violence we encountered and the responses since. While the protesters who called us “Nazis” insulted our fallen and our dignity, the dismissive remarks online from some Jewish leaders and fellow rabbis—one of whom mocked us in quotes as “peace protesters” who allowed hate to echo—hurt far more. Outrage was expressed toward the mayor and the counter-protesters, but few words of solidarity and support were offered to the Israeli activists, fellow rabbis, faith leaders, and Jewish community members who actually stood in the square holding space for Jewish grief and human hope. We must cultivate more compassion to confront the real enemies at our gates.

The Masks of Rage

Slogans that become slurs is what happens when hurt hardens into hate. Having spent many days in the West Bank encountering the dangerous violence of extremist Jewish settlers, I recognize the eyes of hate-fueled ignorance whether behind a mask on Palestinian soil or in Union Square.

So many are masked these days – hidden faces as if to echo the erosion of humanity.

Whether it’s a masked teenage settler on Palestinian soil with a kippah, club in hand, defending Jewish supremacy, or a masked, Hamas-flag-wearing teen in Union Square, a Hamas operative, IDF solider or even ICE agent – we are living at a time of way too many masked people harming other people in our name and in the name of power.

I’ve seen the eyes of hate-fueled ignorance and it can’t be ignored. We must work hard to recalculate, to educate for empathy, for tolerance, for new ways out of this mess, and it will take a generation or more. It’s not too late to stop the hate. And it’s on us who wish to return to the face to face ideal at the heart of all our sacred traditions and democratic values.

Extremists on either side, no matter how loud or self-righteous, will not drown out decency, silence our prayers, or prevent the plans for long-lasting peace, no matter how far it seems right now and how impossible. We owe this to our ancestors and we own this to our descendants.

This coming Shabbat, in synagogues worldwide, we will begin again the annual cycle of sacred story—chanting the words of Genesis. We will be reminded that we were all created in the divine image. We will once again hear the spilled blood of Abel calling us from the earth, and respond to this first murder by adapting his brother’s question—yes, we are all our siblings’ keepers, and always will be. Our Jewish ethics and moral humanity chart our path onwards.

Loud-mouthed zealots will not destroy the complex, necessary, messy road of reconciliation—a path to peace built on repair and reparations, humility and honest work for equal rights, safety, and dignity for both peoples in the Holy Land and all people on this planet.

To my fellow Jews who are skeptical, hurting, or unsure of how to navigate this moment: we must learn to handle nuance and imperfect allies. Look for the helpers who refuse extreme binaries and reject those who demand total ideological purity at the expense of human complexity. The same goes for our Palestinian partners working toward progress, justice, pride, and peace. I’m so grateful to know so many on all sides who co-create these circles that see beyond past hurt to reimagine better.

To our mayor, local leaders, and all who strive to show up in solidarity and with wisdom—thank you for showing up with courage and compassion. Let’s all learn to balance it all better and lift up love with and for all, for the sake of union in Union Square, all over this city, nation, and world.

It is messy in the middle. But I wouldn’t be anywhere else. Our road to redemption will rise from this moral ground of commitment to complexity, courage, and change.

Read the full JTA article here.

~ Rabbi Amichai Lau-Lavie